


Interlude: A Walk Down Privet Drive & An Ominous Sense of Oncoming Doom

by Scree_Kat



Series: Ineffable Parenthood [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Oh So OverProtective, Aziraphale is a Little Shit, Dumbledore and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, Gen, Here be cussing, Ineffable Husbands vs The Greater Good, Kinda Dumbledore Bashing, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, New POV who dis?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat
Summary: Every so often, Albus Dumbledore checks in on the life of young Harry Potter. It isn't always pleasant, given the people the boy lives with. But his stay there is for the Greater Good, and greeting your fate is not always a fun experience.He'd expected Arabella to have another unimpressed rant about the muggles. He'd never expected this.





	Interlude: A Walk Down Privet Drive & An Ominous Sense of Oncoming Doom

**Author's Note:**

> This series isn't published in chronological order. If this is something that'll irritate you, consider this your sign from the universe to run. Run like Hastur is drunk and lonely and trying to chat you up.

It could be argued that indecisive parenting was the crux of the problem, and the impetus for a rather unfortunate descent into the manipulation of the 'greater good' argument to justify the use of acts neither greater nor good. After all, if a parent cannot manage the not-quite hardship of choosing a single middle name for their child, choosing instead to simply whack in the names of every vaguely important sounding person they've ever met or read about in a magazine, how can they be expected to do something important, like teach their spawn not to grow up and sacrifice innocent children in the name of the ever-mythical greater good?

However, while the Universe (and a range of less than reputable parenting experts, and a high number of mothers-in-law) might question the impact of seeming inconsequential decisions on the potential for a child to grow into super-villainy, this was not a subject present in the mind of a tall, long-bearded old man as he wandered down an overly nice (one might say artificially so) drive on a rather beautiful summers day. The mind of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was focused upon a rather long list of tasks to be completed, and a mental note to buy the newest issue of a knitting magazine he'd grown quite partial to. Everything around him looked to be perfectly normal, and though he did not see young Harry as he walked past number 4, it was hardly cause for concern. The boy did not live in the front garden, after all, and a quick glance left him thinking that the Dursley family had toddled off for a holiday to escape the heat. He smiled, the gesture somewhat hidden by the beard, eyes twinkling as he contemplated a quick jaunt before the new school year began.

Albus was a master of politeness. He needed to be, as he realised quickly that people are far more likely to give in to your demands when you're nice enough they'll feel guilty saying no, especially when your plans for saving the world require skating a little too close to the opposition's methods for most delicate sensibilities to tolerate. Over the years, he had perfected the polite, fatherly (then grandfatherly as the beard grew in) persona, revelling in the way people forgot, ridiculously quickly, the moments of doubt because he was just so _nice_. Most everyone he met believed the benign smile he wore was his natural state of being, rather than something he practiced regularly in front of the bathroom mirror. That seemingly eternal benign smile upon Albus's face faltered and fell away as he rounded the corner towards Arabella Figg's home, replaced by the sort of open-mouthed shock he would later vehemently deny having experienced, let alone broadcast so crassly to passersby. Arabella had been hustled into the house within days of Harry's arrival, her mission clear: be discreet, and blend in amongst the muggles. After all, it was rather difficult to remain an unnoticed observer while doing everything possible to draw attention to yourself beyond screaming your plans at inopportune moments. He hadn't expected it to be easy, of course, as Arabella didn't really blend in amongst the perfectly manicured lawns and the well-dressed people responsible for them. Truthfully, she didn't quite fit in anywhere, the poor dear. Oh, she was a lovely and kindhearted woman, of course. And loyal to a fault. But she'd also never met a cat she hadn't tried to shove into her purse and take home, and keeping her house looking pristine was a lost cause against the ongoing tide of adopted felines. But she'd had a house elf assigned to her to help things along, and the sort of wards that could hide a multitude of sins from muggle eyes so long as she didn't push too hard against them. 

Judging by the disgusted glances the muggles were directing towards the house, she hadn't just thrown caution to the wind, she'd murdered caution and anything even remotely similar that had the misfortune of crossing her path. 

As he warily climbed the rotting stairs to knock on the door, he schooled his face to politeness once more, made a mental note to disinfect himself thoroughly, and knocked. 

*

Arabella ushered him with a polite, if utterly confused welcome, and set about parting the sea of inquisitive felines (shoving a few of the more sensible ones away from the door, where they'd tried to make a break for freedom) and leading him towards the kitchen. 

'It's always a pleasure, Professor, but I wasn't expecting you, you see...' He offered a non-committal _hmmm_ in response, and wondered if perhaps the cats had eaten the poor elf while it slept. There was no way the house elf would be able to stop herself cleaning otherwise. 

'Where is Mimsy, Arabella?'

'Who?'

'The house elf assigned to you?'

'Oh, gave it clothes ages ago! What use do I have for a house elf?' Staring at the kitchen in abject horror, Albus could think of at least 87 things without even needing to move his gaze. She began clearing a chair for him, and Albus decided that speed was the key not not having to actually sit on it. There was a brown, seemingly lumpy stain on the wood that, despite Arabella's best and most discrete efforts, was refusing to be moved. 

'I can't stay long, I'm afraid. I just came to get an update on young Harry.'

'Who?' She'd paused in her cleaning, staring up at Albus as though _he_ was the one acting oddly. He rather felt that was a little rich coming from a woman with a kitten sitting, apparently unnoticed, on top of her head like a furious, fuzzy hat. 

'Harry Potter. _The Boy Who Lived_. The boy you're here to monitor.'

'Never heard of him, sorry.' She shrugged, as though forgetting that she was the one person in all of England keeping an eye on the saviour of their world wasn't a serious oversight. He fought the urge to start shouting, and started thinking instead. Something, clearly, was wrong. And as undomestic as Arabella might be, she had more than enough sense to remember the name _Harry Potter_. Someone, and someone with far too much power in Albus's opinion, had interfered with the woman's memory. Opting to forgo the annoyance of questioning, he waited until her back was turned, drew his wand, and with a half-hearted muttered apology, set about rummaging through the woman's mind. She wasn't crazy. Or at least, no more than she had been at the start of the endeavour, small comfort though it might be. As far as she knew, there was no such person as Harry Potter. It was as though all traces of his existence had been removed seamlessly from her memory. The removal was, frankly, a work of art, too perfect to be a Death Eater's work. They were hardly prone to bouts of mercy, or quality workmanship. A rogue element, perhaps? Sighing, he removed all memory of their conversation, added a few more tasks to his mental list, and hurried to number 4 Privet Drive in hopes he'd been wrong about their holiday.

Nobody was home, though a rather nosy neighbour interrupted his frantic knocking to tell him the family had gone on holidays a week ago. The neighbour, too, had no recollection of a boy named Harry ever living there. Going door to door, none of the Dursley's neighbours had any knowledge of a boy named Harry (they now also held no knowledge of a tall and well dressed older man asking oddly specific questions about a random boy).

He had kept apprised of the boy's schooling, of course, in case of emergencies, and as the last couple sat recovering in dazed stupor upon their couch, it was the work of a moment to conceal himself from muggle eyes, apparate into the school's office and check their records. There was nothing. It was as if the boy had never existed. 

Albus of the far-too-many middle names rushed back to Hogwarts, to the well cared for tome that gathered the names of all potential students. If the boy were dead, it would be reflected within the book. Eyes scanning desperately down each page, he let out an audible sigh of relief to see Harry's name that quickly turned into a baffled huff.

It wasn't his name, not precisely. Somewhere, somehow, the boy's name had changed slightly, becoming Harry Potter-Fell. A cold sense of dread settled into his bones, raising goose flesh upon his skin and darkening his already poor mood. Someone had taken Harry.

Albus did not like rogue elements ruining his well-managed plans. They upset his digestion and forced him to tell irate Scottish witches that things had gone awry. The last time he'd had to break bad news to Minerva, she'd transfigured his beard into blast-ended skrewts for the longest and most terrifying minute of his life, before vowing that next time all hair upon his person would be thus transformed. 

Perhaps, he reasoned just a touch desperately, some investigation was warranted before announcing the issue to the world? After all, there was no sense causing a fuss only to have the problem solved within the hour, was there? Settling into his customary place behind the Headmaster's desk, he began to consider a new, revised plan, offering a slew of rather unkind words to whoever the Hell this Fell person was.

*

In a little village called Tadfield, an angel, a demon, a snake named Kaa, two small and magical children, a witch, a witch hunter, a former Hellhound and the Them were enjoying the perfect weather with a shared picnic. The children were doing something requiring far too much shrieking and running about, Dog barking and following and bouncing around like he was part mongrel, part rubber ball. Anathema and Newt were curled together, chatting quite happily to Aziraphale while Crowley tried to stop Kaa from following her adopted mother into the woods. All in all, it was an imperfectly perfect afternoon.

Aziraphale, mid-way through offering the group a rather nice wine, paused, looking suddenly displeased. As though attuned to every minute fluttering of his angel's mood, Crowley turned to face him curiously, raising an eyebrow in silent question. When silent questioning failed to gain a response, he offered a smirk and a 'someone walk over your grave, angel?'

Aziraphale, in a fit of literality, shook his head. 'I do believe someone just called me an asshole. Amongst other, less kind things.'

Crowley's eyes shifted skywards, the 'fuck you, Gabriel' growled to the clear blue sky somehow managing to sound like an angry hiss. 

As though insulting the archangel had the desired effect, the running commentary on Mr Fell seemed to vanish, and Aziraphale smiled fondly at his demon. 'My hero.' 

Snakes, in human form, blush rather prettily. Anathema, purely human, laughed rather prettily, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> For those asking for a chronological order, it runs as follows:
> 
> In Which A Family Is Created Through Arguable Theft  
Thoughts From the Back of a Bentley  
Hiding In Plain Sight  
Interlude: Through the Looking Glass  
Her Father’s Eyes  
In Which You Probably Shouldn’t Say Those Kinds Of Things Around Children, Crowley  
The Demon Of Lost Causes  
Raising Hell  
Somebody to Love  
Interlude: A Walk Down Privet Drive and An Ominous Sense of Oncoming Doom


End file.
